


Noldolantë

by the_inked_quill



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: Fall of the Noldor, Gen, Kinslaying, Noldolante, Poetry, lament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_inked_quill/pseuds/the_inked_quill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë more is told in that lament which is named Noldolantë, the Fall of the Noldor, that Maglor made ere he was lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien,  "Of  the Flight of the Noldor" from the Silmarillion</p><p>Written by Maglor Fëanorion in the years of the Long Peace, after Mereth Aderthad (The Feast of Reuniting). Herein lies the history of the Darkening of Valinor and the Fall of the Noldor, as told by the second son of Curufinwë Fëanáro.</p><p>As translated from the Elven-tongues by Morfinniel Elvellon of Minas Tirith, in year 100 of the Fourth Age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Of the Eldar in Valinor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine this work was finally collected and put on paper in its entirety in the Third Age by a few scholars in Imladris and Lindon. And in following Ages, this preface on the land of Valinor and the Valar would appear before the text of the Noldolantë proper, as background for non-Elven readers. So here I have taken the liberty of adding a second author to this work, the author of the Prologue. If the entire Noldolantë is to be seen as a translation from Quenya, then the Prologue was probably added in Sindarin by an elven-scholar of Imladris, and then translated by a Gondorian scholar into the Common Speech.

Long Ages before eyes of Men  
Had newly gazed on Arien -  
Ere her bright chariot, the Sun  
On maiden voyage had begun,  
The Eldar dwelt beyond the sea  
In bliss and yet-unmarred beauty.  
Fair Elvenhome! upon whose shores  
Were strewn the Maker's shining stores  
Of jewels, gleaming ever-bright,  
Where all glistened with hallowed light  
Streaming from twin flammifers rare:  
The Trees of Valinor most fair,  
Bright Laurelin with leaves of gold,  
Surpassing still a thousandfold  
Light of the yet-undawnèd sun.  
Telperion - whose rays did run  
As silver waters, brighter far  
Than Isil's yet un-fashioned car.

  
Beneath the radiance of the Trees,  
High on a mount over the seas  
Stood Tirion, whose shining spires  
And gilded domes, like minute fires  
Or stars set on the castle keeps  
Reflected in their shining deeps  
The gold and silver brilliance  
Of light, mingling in solemn dance,  
Fallen from the Trees on hallowed hill  
Which all the realm with light did fill.  
Within Tirion's pearly walls  
Rose gleaming, many-splendored halls  
With song and laughter echoing;  
There Finwë, of the Noldor king,  
Held court in stateliest array  
Over his people, proud and fey,  
Greatest of all the Elven race  
In lore and knowledge, fair of face  
And dark of tress, with smouldering eyes  
As grey as wind-tossed stormy skies  
Or deepest well of delvèd stone,  
Whom Aulë favoured as his own -  
Great Aulë, Lord of Stone and Earth,  
The Chief of craftsmen, for the birth  
Of metal-craft and smithing-skill  
Ever revered - for greater still  
Than all of Elven-kind was he,  
For ere the Firstborn came to be  
Aulë with kindred spirits stood  
Before Eru, who pronounced good  
The universe and there did send  
The Valar, Guardians to tend  
All Arda's lands forevermore.

  
Among the Lords of Valinor  
is Aulë numbered; mightier still  
King Manwë from Taniquetil,  
The mount forever clad in snow,  
Bending his august gaze below;  
And Varda Elentári fair,  
His queen, lovely beyond compare  
Who kindled starlight's flaming spark  
Above Endórë's barren dark.  
Around the shores of Ëa lies  
The Sea, from which with piercing eyes  
Lord Ulmo gazes - of the Sea  
And waters flowing, lord is he,  
Dread master of the ocean deeps  
Whose watchful spirit never sleeps.  
Upon the lands of earth and stone  
Nor flower nor green thing is alone  
But by Yavanna, Queen of Earth,  
Is cherished, loved, and brought to birth  
Adorning crag and stone-strewn ford,  
Realm of Aulë, Yavanna's lord.

  
In solemn hall, upon the West  
Of Aman's shores, there come to rest  
The souls of Eldar who away  
Have faded from the realms of day,  
Commanded by Námo, grim lord  
And Doomsman, in whose halls are stored  
Great storied webs woven with tales  
Of Time's march over myriad trails  
And paths, histories wondrous wrought  
By hands of Vairë, Weaver sought  
By Mandos as his treasured bride.  
These grim-historied halls beside,  
Nienna, sister of Mandos,  
Weeps for the manifold sorrows  
Of Arda marred by Melkor's hate,  
Kindling hope in face of Fate.

  
Upon Endórë's shores forlorn  
Sounds Oromë's great hunting-horn,  
The Valaróma, like in sound  
To lightning rending sky and ground  
Heralding death to Melkor's spawn  
At hand of Oromë; the dawn  
Breaking over the Eastern rim  
Of Arda gilds the visage grim  
Of Oromë upon his steed,  
A champion bold in time of need.


	2. Canto I: Of the Noldor in Tirion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reworking the structure of this poem, so here is where the actual Noldolantë begins. Think of the Prologue as written by a later Elven scholar in Sindarin and appended to the Noldolantë, perhaps as it was preserved in the libraries of Men after the passing of the Eldar.

 

Lady of Sorrows, tune my lyre  
To sing of unrelenting fire  
In Fëanáro's flaming eyes  
Lifted against the holy skies  
Of Valinor in wrath and pride;  
O thou who Námo's halls beside  
Weeps for the bitterest sorrow  
Of Arda marred by mighty foe,  
O sister of Námo, grim lord  
And Doomsman, in whose halls are stored  
Great storied webs woven with tales  
Of Time's march over winding trails  
Wherein my tale may yet be found,  
O free my tongue from mortal bounds  
And let me sing of fire, of wrath  
And darkness, and of ruinous path  
Blazed by the Noldor over sea  
To Endor, where the shadows be.  
O Mercy, sister of grim Fate,  
Kindle bright Hope in face of hate  
And evil foes, and Valar's Doom  
Yet shadowing in deepest gloom  
Each step of mine and of my kin:  
Here let my sorrowing song begin.

In Valinor beyond the sea  
Stood Tirion, noble city  
In white and gold bright glimmering  
Where Finwë, of the Noldor king  
Held court in stateliest array  
Over his people, proud and fey.  
Great halls there were of marble hewn  
By masons skilled, with flowers strewn  
And hung with richest tapestry  
Within those courts of rare beauty,  
Where laughing voice, and flowing song  
Rose from the splendidly clad throng  
Of high-born Noldor lords within  
The gates of Finwë and his kin.

  
Yet now the halls lay cold and still -  
No minstrel's song or gentle trill  
Of silver flutes soft echoing  
Was heard within. Finwë the King  
Had called high council on this day,  
For on his people shadows lay  
Of strife, unrest, and whispered words  
Of treachery, of smithing swords,  
Doubt of the Valar's guiding hands,  
Desires to conquer foreign lands.  
Concerning lies secretly sown  
Now to ruinous stature grown,  
All Tirion's lords were in debate  
Within the lofty hall of state  
Whose doors of fine wood were inlaid  
With carven panels, finely made  
In likeness of the lofty height -  
Taniquetil, mount clothed in white,  
Seat of Manwë, of Valinor  
The chiefest guardian evermore,  
And Varda Elentári fair,  
His queen, lovely beyond compare,  
Who kindled starlight's flaming spark  
Above Endor's forsaken dark.  
Fast closed those wondrous doors now lay  
Barring the chamber of parlay  
And facing toward the marble halls -

  
Silent no more, for from the walls  
Echoing, swift footsteps neared  
As princely figure now appeared  
Of Nolofinwë, second son  
Born to the King of Tirion.  
Fair was his face, yet firm his gaze,  
Stalwart, yet gentle in his ways,  
Blue was his raiment, as the sea  
Surging beneath the Pélori,  
Broidered with silver, shining bright  
Within the yet-untainted light  
Fallen from the Trees on hallowed hill.  
Toward the chamber of council  
He bent his steps, until before  
The marvellously carven door  
He paused and stood in moment's rest  
In reverence toward the mountain blest  
Carven thereon; then with grim face  
Knocked. Entering, an honored place  
Was made for him beside the king  
And Finwë, with gaze wondering  
Addressed his son: "What brings thee here,  
My son? Some new unrest, I fear  
Hath reared its head in Tirion."

  
"My king, truth speakest thou, for gone  
Is peace from our fair land. Yet naught  
Of new unrest news have I brought  
But grief of old I bring today:  
Father, our brother groweth fey  
And proud; 'Tis Curufinwë, named  
Spirit of Fire, who hast claimed  
The people's ear. Wilt thou restrain  
The pride of one who now would fain  
Speak in the square, with voice ringing  
Unto our people, as a king?

  
"Thou it was, who led us through  
Endórë, and to life anew  
In Aman's radiance, following  
The Valar's gentle summoning  
Of Elvenkind to Valinor.  
If thou lovest this blessed shore  
Repenting not thy earliest choice -  
Thou hast two sons to heed thy voice;  
Two sons of three to thee hold fast."

  
While he still spoke, the door was cast  
Roughly aside; striding within  
In full array of armour then  
Came Curufinwë Finwion,  
Called Fëanáro, eldest son  
Of Finwë, now with high helm crowned  
And mighty sword beside him bound.

  
"And so it is, " the High Prince growled,  
"E'en as I guessed. Wisdom is fouled  
By my half-brother's ramblings.  
He fain in this and other things  
Would be before me with my sire."  
Now turning on his brother, fire  
Flashed fell in Curufinwë's face.  
"Begone! And take thy rightful place!"  
Thus saying, Fëanáro drew  
His sword upon his brother true,  
Who bowed before the King and went  
From there; no word or glance he sent  
Toward his elder brother. Yet  
In flaming wrath the High Prince set  
To follow him. With sword still drawn,  
Through peaceful halls he hastened on,  
And stayed his brother at the gate,  
Setting sword at his breast. With hate  
He said, "Behold, half-brother, this  
My sword exceeding sharper is  
Than thy poor tongue. Try but once more  
To steal, as thou hast done before,  
My place and my own father's love,  
And maybe its point shall remove  
From Tirion the one who seeks  
To rule those from whom thraldom reeks."

  
With stricken gaze the gathered throng  
In Mindon's square whispered among  
Themselves as Nolofinwë made  
No answer to the fierce tirade  
But passed away through wondering crowd,  
While Fëanáro, tall and proud,  
Still gazed on him with baleful eye  
Heedless of all those passing by.


End file.
